


Impressive, Truly

by helsinkibaby



Series: Truly [1]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Het, Met before canon says they did, One Night Stands, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-10 23:55:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16464749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: On his last night in DC, Nick meets someone.





	Impressive, Truly

**Author's Note:**

> For fictober day 21, “impressive, truly”
> 
> Also known as the met before canon said they did trope fest that no one asked for.

The Hay Adams bar is pleasantly busy at this time on a weeknight, with enough people stopping in after work to give the place a bit of an atmosphere without it being uncomfortably crowded. It’s easy enough for Nick to find himself a seat at the bar and he’s not waiting too long before the bartender comes over to him. He gives his room number, orders a beer, surveys the room while he waits for it and if his gaze lingers a little on the pretty blonde who’s sitting two stools down from him, he doesn’t do anything about it. He didn’t come here to hook up, although he wouldn’t actually refuse the offer, considering tomorrow he’s heading down to Argentina to hopefully infiltrate the Silva drug cartel and who knows how long it will before he’s back in DC again. But she’s giving out some pretty serious Greta Garbo, “I want to be alone” type vibes and Nick’s a lot of things but he’s not a dick. If she wants space, he can respect that. 

Of course, not every guy can. 

Like the one who squeezes himself onto the stool in between Nick and the blonde, for example. 

Nick sees him approaching in the mirror hung over the bar and just about moves over enough so that the guy doesn’t completely elbow him. He’s pretty sure the guy hasn’t even noticed him, all his attention on the blonde woman. Nick sizes him up in an instant - guy’s wearing a suit that probably costs more than Nick makes in a week, he’s wearing more cologne than your average cosmetics counter and yeah, he’s good looking in a way that’s really too obvious for his own good. He probably thinks he’s God’s gift to women, Nick figures, and from the way he’s talking to the woman, he quickly proves Nick right. 

And the blonde is clearly not interested at all. 

She gives him short answers, one or two words, keeps her body angled away from him, signaling her disinterest without actually saying the words. But either the guy can’t read the signs or he just doesn’t care or, more than likely, her lack of interest just makes him try harder. His lines get worse and worse and Nick is seriously admiring the woman’s restraint when the guy comes out with the worst line yet. 

“So tell me,” he drawls, leaning in close. “How do you like your eggs?”

Nick’s torn between the urge to bang his head off the bar and it doesn’t go away when he sees the woman finally turn her head to look directly into the man’s eyes. Seriously, he thinks? That’s the line that she decides to respond to? He’d figured her for smarter than that. 

He keeps his eyes straight ahead, acts like he’s not following every second in the mirror in front of them. But he doesn’t miss the tiny flick upwards on the edges of the woman’s lips, the set to her jaw and the glint in her eyes as she leans in and utters one flat toned word in reply. 

“Unfertilised.”

Nick’s spit take leaves no doubt that he was listening to every word and as he reaches for a napkin to wipe his lips and mop up the spray, he sees a flash of a genuine smile cross the woman’s face. Her would-be suitor slinks away and it’s then that the bartender comes over, stops in front of Nick. “I’ll have another,” Nick tells him, indicating the bottle in front of him. Then he waves a hand in the woman’s direction. “And whatever the lady is having.”

He receives a glare that’s faintly murderous in response to his offer. “I don’t want-” she begins and it’s pretty clear what she’s thinking. So clear that Nick turns to her, holds up both hands. 

“Look, I know how that sounds ok? But trust me, I’m not trying to get into your good books. Or into anything else either.” He drops his hands, reaches for another handful of napkins. “This is just my way of saying thank you to you for the much needed laugh.” He thinks of her delivery of the killer line, of the guy’s face when he realised just how badly he’d been burned and he can’t help it, he chuckles again. “Unfertilised,” he echoes. “That’s impressive. Truly.” 

As it happens, he’s telling the complete truth and maybe she can see that because her shoulders relax, a half smile coming to her lips. “Well then, I will take another beer. Thank you.” 

“Oh, believe me, it was my pleasure. I fully intend dining out on that story. Like, a lot.” 

Her eyes - hazel, he notices, a bewitching shade and he stops that train of thought in its tracks - narrow. “Aren’t you worried people will think you’re the guy?”

“What?” He drags the word out, his voice rising by at least an octave, one hand going to his chest in affected shock. “You think people would buy me using a cheesy line like that one?” She pretends to consider it before she shrugs one shoulder and he shakes his head. “My lines are so much smoother than his,” he assures her. “But since I just swore to you I wasn’t trying to get anywhere with you, I guess you’ll never know.” 

She grins even as she sighs theatrically. “I’ll try to live with the disappointment.” The bartender deposits a beer each in front of them and Nick holds his still half full bottle up towards her. She takes the new bottle, tips it against his and raises it to her lips. When she sets it down in front of her, her thumb worries the label for a moment before she speaks again. “What is it with guys like that and stupid lines?” 

Nick looks left and right, then back to her. “I’m sorry, are you talking to me?” 

He makes it clear from his tone that he’s teasing and, luckily enough for someone who he’s talked to for barely five minutes, she takes it in the spirit that it’s intended, narrowing her eyes and actually huffing. “Well, since you’re the one sitting so close to me, and you just bought me a drink, I would say so.” Her thumb moves against the label again, already starting to curl up one edge. “Is this how dating is supposed to work now?” 

Ah. That tells Nick plenty. “I think that’s how hooking up works,” he tells her. “If you ever figure out how dating works, let me know.” That earns him the ghost of a grin before she takes another pull of her beer. He waits for her to speak again. When she doesn’t, he tries, “Bad breakup?” 

Her head turns sharply towards him and for a second it seems like she’s gearing up for a fight. But then her eyes meet his and it’s like she deflates. “I signed divorce papers today,” she tells him. 

He screws up his face in sympathy. “I’m sorry.” 

She looks heavenward, shrugs one shoulder. “I’m the one who filed,” she says. “After I found out he was screwing around on me with someone from work.” She frowns, and it looks like something’s just occurred to her. “And now here I am, drinking in a bar and spilling my guts to a complete stranger. God, could I be any more of a cliché?”

“Sure. You could be spilling them to the bartender.” She snickers and Nick takes the opportunity to look her up and down. Long blonde hair, beautiful hazel eyes. Slim figure by the looks of it, hidden as it is under a loose shirt and pair of jeans. Whip smart. Funny. Easy to talk to. All that, and she still got cheated on? Nick can only come to one conclusion and it doesn’t take him long to do it. “Your husband was an idiot.” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. Her eyes are back on him after that, caught somewhere between doubt and anger so what the hell, he goes all in. It’s not like he’s ever going to see her again after tonight. “Seriously. Look at you. Like, a dozen guys have been watching you since I sat down, and three of them would have been over here in the last few minutes if they hadn’t seen we were talking. Frankly, I’m surprised that stopped at least one of them.” He shrugs. “You’re a catch. And if your husband couldn’t see that, then, seriously, fuck that guy.” 

Her cheeks are pink and he doesn’t think it’s from the heat of the bar. She turns her gaze back to her beer. “So what brings you here?” she asks after a long moment. “Don’t tell me you’re nursing a heartbreak too?” 

He can’t lie to her, so he shakes his head. “I’m... relocating tomorrow. Tonight’s my last night in DC.” It’s the truth, even if only a portion. “My place is all packed up, belongings in storage, so I figured I’d treat myself to a nice room with a view for my last night.” She looks impressed at that. “I fly out in the morning.” He thinks she might ask where to. When she doesn’t, he makes an observation of his own. “You know, I never did get your name.” 

She laughs softly, catches her lip between her teeth, her head moving gently from side to side. Afraid he might have pushed too far too fast, he lifts one eyebrow. “Because if you’re not going to tell me your name, I’m going to have to guess.” The teasing works, draws a smile back out. “I’m thinking something classic... maybe even a little old fashioned.” She’s got a good poker face, he thinks, because she’s mostly impassive but there’s a flicker of something in her eyes that makes him think that he’s not too far off the mark. “But I bet you go by a nickname...” There’s that flicker again. “Something like Elizabeth or Margaret or Victoria... I know.” He clicks his fingers. “Charlotte. But I bet you go by Charlie.” 

She’s laughing. “Nowhere near.”

Nick tilts his head and narrows his eyes, makes a show of appraising her. “I don’t believe you. Besides, I think you look like a Charlie. That’s what I’m going to call you for the rest of the night.” 

“Oh, you are?” She doesn’t sound unhappy at the prospect. “And if I’m Charlie, who are you?” 

He ponders for a second, finally settles on the name of his favourite uncle from when he was a kid. “Luis,” he tells her and she grins, broad and bright and enough to take his breath away. 

“So what do you do for a living... Luis?” she asks and, oh, if he hadn’t been half gone on her already, the way she said his name, the accent she put on it, that would have done it. Just from that one word, he can tell she speaks Spanish almost as well as he does. 

Again, Uncle Luis comes to the rescue. “I’m a mechanic,” he tells her. 

There’s a question in the tilt of her head. “A mechanic who’s relocating, who can stay at the Hay Adams?” 

He shrugs. “I’m in demand,” he tells her, stretching out his arms and flexing his fingers. “These hands can work miracles under the hood.” He stops, doesn’t need her sudden peal of laughter to realise how that sounded. “Oh man, that was bad.”

She’s covering her lips with one hand, her shoulders shaking with mirth. “Pretty bad,” she manages to get out.

“I swear, I can do better. If I were allowed prove it to you, that is.” 

“Which you’re not.” Her eyes are dancing. 

“Which I’m not.” He takes a long pull from his beer but he doesn’t take his eyes off her. “What about you? What do you do when you’re not hanging out in bars, putting guys like me in our place?” 

Charlie sits up a little straighter in her chair. “I’m a librarian,” she says eventually and he blinks. Of all the jobs she could have made up, that’s not one he would have expected. He does a pretty poor job of hiding his surprise and she shrugs one shoulder. “What can I say... the books, the peace, the quiet... I’ve always loved the library.” 

“That’s cool, that’s cool.” Not something he understands personally, but it’s not about him. Besides, he’s already worked out she’s damn smart, her being a bookworm makes all sorts of sense. Even if it’s not the kind of conversation that he’d normally have in a bar. There’s something different about this woman. Something intriguing. 

“Oh?” Her head tilts in obvious question, curiosity warring with suspicion. “You like the library too?” 

“Ah, no.” He has to be honest with her. “I’m not a big reader. Unless there’s plenty of pictures.” 

It’s only partly a joke but she doesn’t know that and it makes her laugh. “So what do you do for fun? When you’re not hanging out in bars, talking to emotional women?”

“I’m more of a gym guy.” He knows he’s not imagining how her eyes moves across his chest, down his arms and back up, lingering on his biceps. He definitely not imagining the flash of appreciation he sees there either. “Weight machine, rowing machine, punching bag, that kind of thing.” He grins. “Bet you could have used that with your ex, right?” 

Her laugh - genuine and full bodied - is the best thing he’s heard in months. He instantly decides he wants to hear it again. “No comment.” 

“But you’re thinking about it now, right?” He leans in closer to her, then throws caution to the wind, slides across so that he’s on the barstool next to hers. She doesn’t object. In fact, if anything her smile grows wider. “You can’t fool me, Charlie.” 

She props one elbow on the bar, rests her chin on top of that hand. Her eyes are huge and dark as she blinks at him. “So if I’m such an open book, what am I thinking now?”

Nick doesn’t blink. “That you’re wishing you hadn’t been so quick to ban me from practising my lines on you.”

Her lips curl into a smile. “Then maybe you should buy me another drink and we’ll see how good they are.”

Nick’s already signalling the bartender as he quirks an eyebrow in her direction. “That a challenge, Charlie? Because I don’t back down from a challenge.”

Her gaze is steady on his. “I’m counting on it.” 

Nick’s smile is slow, his gaze dropping down to her lips. Only for a moment, but when he looks up again, her eyes seem even darker than they had been seconds ago. “Another beer? Or something stronger?” 

“Surprise me.” 

He takes her at her word, orders them both a glass of bourbon. They finish their beers first, then sip the bourbon, the conversation flowing easily, moving from the serious to the flirty and back again in a way that manages to be familiar and yet exciting. Nick finds himself wishing that this weren’t his last night in the city, wishes that he’d somehow managed to meet her sooner, in another time and place. It might be the alcohol beginning to hit his system but she fancies she might just feel the same - her posture is considerably more relaxed, her smiles a little easier, a little flirtier. 

He’s hoping that’s not just the alcohol. 

He gets his answer when there’s a bare mouthful left in the bottom of her glass and she’s tracing her index finger around the rim, looking like she’s lost in thought. He moves his elbow so that it brushes against hers. “Another?” 

There’s a pause before she shakes her head and he finds himself holding his breath. “I’d better not,” she says. “Any more and I’ll start feeling it...” Her lips twist. “I don’t like my judgement being impaired.” 

Which means her judgement isn’t impaired yet. Nick chooses to take that as a good thing. He knows exactly what he’s doing with his next question. “You want me to walk you out? Put you in a cab?” 

He means it too. He’ll do that, even if he’d really rather not. 

Still, he’s glad when her eyes meet his and he sees the decision in them before she says a word. “No,” she says simply.

Nick smiles, slides his hand across the bar and closes it over hers. Her skin is cool to the touch; somehow, he doesn’t think it’s because of the glass of bourbon. “You know,” he tells her, his thumb tracing patterns on her skin, “if you change your mind any time... you can tell me to stop. You know that, right?” Because if she didn’t before now, he wants to make sure that she does. Nick may be a man of many names, but he’s determined that he’s never going to be that guy, the one who makes women do something that they don’t want to do. 

This time, for the first time, her chuckle is a little more rueful as she dips her head. “Am I that obvious?” 

“No.” He reaches out his free hand, tucks his finger under her chin and lifts her head up. Leaning in, he brushes his lips over hers, slowly, gently, barely a whisper of a kiss. She holds her posture for a second but then he feels her relax, feels her sigh, almost melting into his touch. Which he figures gives him permission to exert the tiniest bit more pressure, but only for a moment. Then he draw back, grins as he looks down into her face and sees a matching smile there. 

He never takes his hand away from hers as he stands up and when she stands with him, he’s glad to see that she’s steady on her feet. It tells him again that this decision, while different for her, isn’t alcohol related, that she still knows what she’s doing. 

Besides, he knows he can make her unsteady on her feet upstairs in his room. 

And he does. 

*

As a general rule, Nick doesn’t sleep much but that night is the rare exception. All he knows is that one moment, he’s lying on his side, his index finger tracing a path down Charlie’s spine as she lies on her stomach, eyes closed, a peaceful smile on her face. The next moment, he opens his eyes to morning sun making its way through the blinds and the space beside him is empty. 

For a brief, sleep-addled moment, he almost thinks he dreamed the whole encounter. Then he takes a deep breath and catches the faint scent of her perfume, blinks as he sees a long strand of blonde hair glinting against the stark white of the hotel pillowcases. 

He props himself up on one elbow and a quick glance around the room reveals only one set of clothes strewn around various locations. His eyes also land on the bedside table and the sheet of notepaper lying there, loopy cursive script spelling out a short message. “See you around, Luis,” it reads and, below that, the letter C. 

Grinning, Nick flops back on the bed and smiles. “I hope so, Charlie,” he murmurs. “I really do.”


End file.
